Depravation
by Depraved Doll
Summary: Two years have passed since Battle Royale, two years of life I should not have been living yet somehow I was… barely… mild shounen ai at the end n.n


**Depravation **

**Author- Depraved Doll **_(formally known as Luna P) _

**Rating-** Uh… Teen for mention of murder… self hate… shounen-ai? Warning- Mild yaoi, very mild, the mildest I've ever written… 

**Disclaimer- **if I owned Battle Royale, America would never have been given the rights to remake the film as they always screw up Japanese films by making every character a brainless jock.Oh and Kiriyama would not have died in the end (cries)

**Summary-** Two years have passed since Battle Royale, two years of life I should not have been living yet somehow I was… barely… (mild shounen ai at the end n.n) A/N- _Uh, yeah ok the characters don't get revealed until the very end of this piece but I would like to know if people guessed it before hand as it would tell me if I had done well with keeping them in character. Please review and tell me, it would mean a lot and help me out as an author, thank you, enjoy…_

**_BRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBR_ **

42 students… three days… one winner…

Stories about Battle Royale are merely that, they're stories told to children who sit round campfires or on the bus during a school trip. They're not thought of a scary, infact most who hear it laugh about it, they think of it as nothing more than a harmless story,

I laughed once…

These children amuse me, they think the BR act is just a figment of someone's imagination, an urban legend. It's far more and somehow I'm living proof of that, it's only been a year or two, not long at all, but then everyone had heard the legends before then and no one believed, it was all an act right…

Noriko and Shuya, they weren't winners they weren't survivors of a three day long massacre, they're murders people who killed thirty-eight classmates two new students and two teachers. They're hunted now, wanted people, they're always running, but they're together, that's what they wanted and I suppose that must mean they're happy. I don't give a shit, they can be happy or sad they can be alive or dead it makes no difference to me.

The door opens and closes with a slam, I don't move, I bring my cigarette to my lips and inhale deeply, letting my head fall back against the back of the couch and closing my eyes.

Battle Royale is not just a made up story…

It is not an urban legend…

It actually happened, and I saw it in all of it's glory, I saw friends turning against friends, I saw girls kill other girls as revenge for a boyfriend never theirs stolen from them. I saw feeble attempts to make peace… _to find another way_… I saw 'accidents' I saw it all and I still see it now. Playing out inside my minds eye, it haunts me, the images plaguing my dreams, I don't mind. It's oddly… comforting.

Two years have passed since Battle Royale, two years of life I should not have been living yet somehow I was… barely… a year locked up in a hospital somewhere. Locked up in a hospital with _him _then a year in an institution, not sure where they were going with that. Now here I am in a house not my own because I have no home to return to, nowhere to go and oddly enough that landed me here with _him_. It always comes back to him in the end and I'm not sure why.

He walks into the room, brushes past me, stops, grabs the lighter from my lap and lights himself a cigarette before dropping it back into my lap. I wonder why he's brought me here, was it so that he can kill me? Make sure I'm dead once and for all, I don't care, I welcome it, open my arms to it,

Try if you will… others have come before you and others will surely follow…

I'm aware of his gaze on me but I do nothing about it, there's no point, he does it a lot, watches me, I don't know why and I don't claim to, I never understood people. Never wanted to, all I care to know is that people are natural born killers, they're betrayers and they'll stab you in the back before they even comprehend telling you why.

I contemplate making some witty remark, I let it die on my tongue, there's no point, why do I do it anyway, what reaction do I hope to get from him? Am I trying to make him kill me, do I crave my death so much?

Yes…

If he held one I'd throw myself onto the knife…

He knows this and I know he knows though how I'm not sure, he just does and I accept that, he's good at reading people, unlike me, though he too doesn't like them. _Once bitten twice shy _and I know that both of us have been bitten more times than we'd care to count. If he's happy about this newfound lease of life, he has yet to show it. We both want what was denied us on that island, what forty other people found yet did not want, we craved… we were denied. Why… what purpose is there for us here?

He wants to say something, the unasked question hangs in the air like a thick fog, I suppose I want to hear it but I say nothing. I don't prompt him, if he asks he asks, if he doesn't then he doesn't, one way I find out what the question is the other I don't. I'm not going to push him, it's not my place, I never have and I never will. I've learnt over time that if someone wants to say something they'll say it regardless of if you want them too or not, it works the other way too. You can't make someone tell you something they'd rather keep to themselves.

People never show you who they truly are; they have a thousand masks, and tell a thousand lies. That's what people do, that's human nature, it's a self-defence mechanism, people can't hurt you if they know fuck all about you. That's a lie, people will shoot you or drive a blade through you all the same. They don't have to know you, they don't even have to look at you, you just have to be in their way, you just have to be in the wrong place, look at someone the wrong way… you just have to exist… someone will hate you for that.

Everyone has their reasons for killing…

Everyone is capable of killing, even those wimps whom, during the first night of Battle Royale dived headfirst into the rocks or hung themselves. They were capable of killing, they killed themselves didn't they, how do they think that was any better,

Self sacrifice more valiant than murder? No, it wasn't that they didn't want to kill, it was that they didn't want to be killed, they wanted to have control over their own deaths, their own fate. They were cowards, each and everyone of them and they sickened me, they still do, _I can't kill_, pathetic, you can, you just don't want to believe that you can, it scares you to think that you could take someone's life from them. Scares you more than the thought of your own death, you're pathetic, I wouldn't even waste a bullet on you.

For some reason the fact that he's still staring at me irritates me, hell it's unsettling me and I don't like that. Let him look I don't care, oh but I do and I have no idea why, I've never cared before, so why do I care now? Why does everything keep coming back to him?

Maybe because he's all I have…

It sounds stupid but it's true, I have no home, no family, no friends, nowhere to go, nothing to do, I'm alive when I should be dead and I have no purpose. I'm not bitter about any of that, I don't care, but the fact remains that he brought me here, he lets me live here, with him, and I have no idea why. So I should just ask… no, it's not my place.

People do what they do, if it involves me then so be it, I have no grounds to question anyone's motives just as no one has grounds to question my own. That's the way I like it and that's the way I wish for it to stay.

The cigarette has burned down to the filter, burning my fingers though there is no pain, I don't gasp, I acknowledge that the pain should be there when it isn't and then I grind the remainder of the cigarette into the ashtray beside me. Almost immediately lighting another, I'll have to go and buy some more soon, I only have ten left and those won't last at the rate I'm going. Yet another way I'm trying to bring my life to an early end.

He sighs and I know he's running a hand through his hair, longer now than it was back then, he's exasperated though I'm unsure why and am not at liberty to ask.

His hands are fisted into my collar a second later, him looming over me, I don't move. I lye there, motionless with my head back and eyes closed, cigarette in my right hand resting on the armrest.

Do it… kill me…

I know that he hears the unspoken request, the challenge, I know that he's heard it everyday for however long we've been stuck with each other's company. I know that a part of him wants to, wants to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze, forcing the life from my lungs. I know that another part won't let him and I know that neither one can cancel the other out. They'll war inside of him until his or my own life end, whichever comes first. Like some unholy bond,

Until death do us part…

I know this because there are the same parts warring within me, I've had opportunities such as this one, opportunities to kill him and yet each and everytime I've walked away. I hate him for it but I hate myself for it even more, I feel pathetic like those fools who refused to play the game two years ago. I'm not playing the game now, or perhaps I am, I'm playing with him and neither of us can gain an advantage, we're both stuck on pause unable to win or lose.

It's maddening…

"Damn it," he growls and released his grip on my collar, standing and striking out at the table so hard I hear wood splinter. "What the fuck is this…" his hands are on my collar again, he shakes me this time and still, I do nothing… my request still stands… "say something you bastard! A year, a fucking year of you just sitting their fucking silent, say something!" He waits and I don't say a word… it's not my place,

He backhands me, hard, ridiculously hard and I swear he's wearing a ring because the distinct cool of metal presses into my cheek for the briefest of moments. I grunt softly but don't call out, I don't feel pain the action should have created so I have no cause to, my lips split, I say nothing, I do nothing. He must feel guilty about it because he's cussing under his breath, muttering _'sorry' _every once in a while. I don't understand, why is he sorry?

He collapses beside me, lighting another cigarette, running his hand through his hair again, anger subsiding, something else, I'm unsure as to what, taking its place.

"Can you even speak, back then… on the Island I never heard you say a word." He mutters, staring at me again, I bring the cigarette to my lips. What did he expect me to have said? It wasn't like we were all sat round a table drinking tea. We were shooting each other, having a blast if I remember correctly.

I can talk… I just don't see a point most of the time…

"You're driving me insane you know, this silence, I see you everyday and everyday you just sit there, you never say hello, goodbye, good morning, goodnight, you never even fucking ask me why." I smirk letting silence fall between us once again as I contemplate putting him out of his misery. When he rises from he seat a soft sigh escaping his lips, I let the cigarette hover just infront of my lips.

"It's not my place," I think I scared him more with just uttering those four words than I did when I was pointing a gun at him. After a pregnant moment he recovers from his stupor enough to be able to respond to me.

"What do you mean it's not your place," I shrug, he growls, "don't stop speaking now you bastard you might enjoy living in silence but I don't so you better just keep talking."

"Will you kill me if I don't?" I ask with a gentle chuckle as I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale deeply.

"That's what you want you bastard," I chuckle once more, "why don't you speak,"

I shrug, "it's not my place,"

"What the fuck does that mean? If you want to know something ask it, you have a right to, it drives me mad the way you just sit there and think, hell I hope you think what else are you going to do?" He yells, sounding more than a little angry, I chuckle, opening my useless eyes and grinding out my cigarette once again.

"Watch TV," I suggest stoically, he sighs for what seems like the millionth time,

"Can you see anything?" he asks, walking closer and crouching down infront of me, he waves his hand infront of my face, once, twice, I catch his wrist in the third sweep. Staring directly at him despite being unable to see him.

"No, not really, pale shapes, nothing more. For example, I can see something infront of me, no distinguishable features just a blur a shape." I know he's watching me, intrigued, endless questions burning within his mind.

"Don't you miss your sight?"

"Sometimes, don't you miss Keiko?" He backhands me again and I chuckle as I rub the side of my face. Almost wishing I could feel the stinging pain that should have resided there now, the cut on my lip that had just been starting to heal is ripped open once again due to the force of the hit. I knew that he'd hit me for that, I'm not allowed to speak of her, she's an angel to him and I may aswell be the bastard who shot her for all he cares. I'm unworthy to say her name, he's told me as much time and time again. I stare at a floor that I cannot see; sometimes I wonder if that is my purpose to him, his punching bag. Something he can attack that no one will care about because no one knows it exists.

I died two years ago during a three-day massacre…

I don't exist… then again… neither does he…

"You're fucked up," he snarls, I smirk, so is he, there's very little difference between the two of us yet he doesn't seem to realise this. He thinks we're opposites, he's a fool. I sigh, letting my head fall back against the couch, I feel somewhat light-headed and I can feel the gentle pounding behind my eyes telling me that I should be feeling pain when there is none. I grimace slightly and he must notice because he sounds almost worried when he speaks again, "you ok…" I nod and immediately regret doing so as my head swims.

See… you can hurt me… you can hurt me when I can't feel any pain…

…so why can't you kill me…

"Why…" I wonder aloud, then fall back into silence, it's not my place, he can hurt me, he can care for me, he can kill me, he can let me live, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, I don't care. I don't care about anything least of all myself.

"Why what?" he asks, he's wiping away the blood from my lip and I attempt to pull back from the action but find myself unable to do so thanks to the couch back. I shake my head, an action telling him to forget it, that it's unimportant. He doesn't back away if anything he moves closer and I want to push him away and plunge a knife into his throat and at the same time I want to pull him closer.

"Go away," I demand, my voice sounded strange, strangled, perplexed, I don't like those feelings and I don't like how easily he seems to be able to bring them upon me.

"Why?" I try to push him away but he holds strong, bastard, he's persistent, stubborn as far as I can tell he always has been and as far as I care to judge I think he always will be. I stare at him trough blinded eyes, can feel his breath on my lips, his scent overwhelms me, smoke, cinnamon and a scent that is purely his own. I push at him again and he budges slightly but the force was not enough to remove him from my lap.

I wonder why I'm holding back…

A hand snakes into my hair, running through it soothingly over and over again and I'm twisting and turning all of this information in my head, trying to work out what's happening and why. I can't, it's something perhaps I am unable to understand, something taken from me as a child that I can never win back. Something lost never to be found, or perhaps I understand all too well, and simply don't want to accept the truth.

I growl, placing my hands on his shoulders and pushing, I feel his hands gripping onto my upper arms, holding tightly. Stubbornly refusing to go anywhere, I'd do anything to get him away from me right now, yet somehow I don't think anything would be enough.

"Get off of me Shogo," I demand, voice low authoritative, half threatening, half begging, I don't have to see to know that confusion is not present upon his face. Not only due to the gently pleading tone in my voice but because I used his name… his first name… I barely ever speak to him call him by name even less. I've never used his first name before, just as he has never used mine, there never seemed a point to it, we were merely acquaintances not friends. So what's changed,

Nothing…

It's always been this way…

We just refused to admit it…

I release my grip on his shoulders, my arms falling to my sides, his hands slip from my forearms, he places one hand upon my shoulder the other one returns to my hair. I'm warring with myself again, half of me angered, wishing to push him away and rip him to pieces the other half… wants him to stay, tells me to reach out to him. I refuse to do either, just sitting there like an inanimate object. Completely unsure of what to do.

No one has touched me so casually in years, I figure my parents were the last and they died a _long _time ago. Then no one wanted to touch me, a child who didn't seem 'right' didn't seem 'human' a child who couldn't understand the difference between right and wrong and who everyone was afraid to come near to. Just incase he bit out their throats. It was something I had become used to, the lack of contact, of love, so this… whatever it was, it was new and confusing for me and I think he knew that.

His lips brush against mine simply that and nothing more a mere ghosting touch of lips against lips and then it disappears. He pulls back and stands, I watch him with unseeing eyes as he walks away, I know he's gone when the door to the room I'm seated in slams closed. I sigh and light another cigarette.

I'm not sure what I'm meant to feel, I'm confused yes but I do not feel affronted or repulsed, nor do I feel giddy or particularly happy. In the end, I suppose I fell exactly the same as I did when he walked into the room, when he brought me here, on the island. Cold, stoic indifference, I don't think I'd have it any other way.

Though I know that deep down, I do care for him,

As best as I possibly can…

I take a long drag from my cigarette my eyes still glued on the door and I wonder, what does _he _feel now, what does he wish for me to feel. Does he wish for more than simple indifference, does he want hate does he want love? Does he merely wish for one of the two as surely either of the connected pair are preferable to nothing at all.

I'm hollow… I'm not a human as is defined…

I cannot feel like other humans can…

I'm broken and nothing… not even you Shogo can fix me…

I suppose that is what aggravates him the most, the fact that I can not give him what he wants, I can not hate him when he wants to be hated, equally I can not love him when he wants to be loved. I need neither nor the other of these as I do not understand them, yet he, he needs both, he needs hate… he needs love… he wants it from me and I don't understand. There are thousands of people he can chose to find these things from and _he _wants them from _me_.

He wants what I cannot possibly give and I wonder how that makes him feel, I realise that I must care for him on some level higher than indifference because I wonder how my actions effect him. I wonder if I hurt him, if I make him happy, I actually care.

He's made me all sentimental and I wonder…

Even blind as I am I can find his room without stumbling once, I follow the music until I'm standing before the door. I may be blind now but I am no invalid and I don't need any help, though I have never turned his down. I turn the handle slowly, slipping into the room and I know it's dark but it makes no difference to me. He hasn't noticed that I've entered, the loud music covering for me as I opened the door and covering for me once again as I close it.

I stand at the foot of his bed and figure that he must have his eyes closed or be facing away because he surely would have said something to me by now otherwise. I wait, the music pounding away seemingly stripping me of yet another of my senses for the time being anyway. The music slows down; he opens his eyes…

"Kiriyama?" my response is simply to lean down and press my lips against his, my tongue laps gently at his bottom lip and he opens his mouth. My tongue slipping into his mouth and making soft sweeping motions I pull back just as he begins to respond and smirk, staring at where I know him to be.

Yes I wonder…

If maybe he can fix me after all…

**Owari **

Finished- 11-28-2006 

_Hm, I might do a sequel but we shall have to see how many people like it, um I don't think there's any yaoi (slash) on this site let alone KawadaKiriyama. If there is then please point me in it's direction if there's not then I am the first… um… please… go write some n.n _

_Anyway I hoped people liked and that I maybe made someone's day with this piece n.n_ _Please review and tell me if I did and if you want a sequel… then review and ask, you might just get it n.n_


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